A Day in the Life of Will Herondale
by divergentfan4life
Summary: <html><head></head>This is after Will and Jem are both dead and Tessa is still alive (the warlock thing). Will and Jem are kinda ghosts and they are both around 17. This just a scene where Will gets to see Tessa again.</html>


Will stepped through the massive doors of the Institute, shaking the rain from his inky hair, turned even more pitch black by the steady London drizzle. He was soaked to the bone; his gear was dripping on the marble floors, and his long lashes shed crystalline droplets on his cheeks, which were flushed.

He shrugged his shoulders out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor in a soggy heap without a second thought. Sophie can look after it, he thought.

"Jem!" he called, striding through the foyer, his boot falls echoing around the cavernous space. He waited; his parabatai didn't answer.

"James!" he called again, bounding up the stairs two at a time. "James Carstairs! I've something to tell you!"

"In here." His parabatai's voice was muffled. "Whatever is it that got you in such a stir? Were the ducks of Hyde Park resorting to cannibalism once more?" Jem stepped out from one of the Institute's innumerable rooms, his silver-streaked eyes sparkling with mirth. "I knew that poultry pie of yours would have lasting effects on those wretched mallards."

Will had to grin at the memory. "Damned bastards," he said, almost shivering at the memory of the hated poultry. "Horrible little beasts. But no, this is better."

Jem shifted to lean against the doorframe, his silver-streaked hair falling into his eyes. "Let me guess," he said, the corners of his mouth turning up in resigned amusement. "Demon pox?"

"No, unfortunately." Will's own mouth curled into a wicked grin. He looked, as many had observed for centuries, like a bad angel about to avenge the Earth. "Although I might remind you that the moment Gabriel Lightwood revealed to the world the truth that I had been proclaiming for years was my greatest triumph. All of you thought me mad but I was correct on that vein."

"And might I remind you, William, that you were, and for that matter still are, quite mad." Jem's eyes were shrouded by his long lashes, but Will could hear the laughter in his parabatai's voice.

"That is beside the fact," Will said impatiently, waving him off. "I was in the midst of describing a most unusual occurrence, and I would like to continue."

Jem, one straight eyebrow raised, smiled at him. "The suspense is quite too much," he said. "I beg of you, don't keep me in the dark any longer."

Will shook his inky hair out of his eyes impatiently. It fell right over his forehead again. "As you know," he began imperiously," I have been searching the streets of London for that blasted Portal that Henry installed in that alley all those years ago."

Jem nodded. "And? I thought that insane contraption of Henry's had gone to rust ages ago."

Will shrugged. "That's probably the case, but it doesn't matter. In the midst of my wanderings, I discovered the current residence of the warlock Magnus Bane. This wouldn't have struck me as odd, if it wouldn't have been for his companion."

Will took a deep breath to steady his racing heart. He felt as if he had jut ran for miles. "Jem... Tessa is in London. She's staying with Magnus."

His parabatai's eyes went wide, first with shock, then with pure, radiant joy. "Tessa?" he whispered in disbelief. "My Tessa, our Tessa, in London? I thought she had relocated to America after, you know, I died."

For an instant, the light in Jem's eyes dimmed.

Will tried to ignore the own agony that flared in his heart when he remembered when he had died, all those years ago. He had watched his death break Tessa's heart, had watched her tears helplessly, had watched as Jem had healed. her. "That's correct," he said, trying to control the wavering of his voice. "She did. But she's back. And she's in London."

Jem looked amazed and happy and so full of joy, but then he sagged. "That's incredible, Will," he said. "But what can we do? We're dead. She can't see us. She couldn't see us even if she wanted to."

Will deflated, feeling the bubble of hope pop in his chest. "You're right," he said finally, staring out the window, watching sheets of rain fall steadily. He tried to smile, but felt himself crack on the inside. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Jem's face mirrored his, but his smile seemed more sympathetic.

I'll never stop owing him, Will thought, staring at his friend. He loves her as much as I do, yet I'm the one who he comforts.

"Could I have the address at which she's staying?" Jem asked. "Even if she can't see me, I'd like to see her, anyway. To see if she's changed."

"She hasn't," Will answered, more curtly than he'd intended. "She's still Tessa; she's still beautiful."

Jem tried to smile at that. "She's Tessa," he repeated. "She's always beautiful."

Will nodded mutely, a lump of tears choking his voice dead in his throat.

Jem drew him into a hug. "It's all right, William." He drew back, holding Will at an arm's length. "She's still with you, with me." He tapped Will's chest, right over his heart, right over his parabatai rune, now faded silver. "We'll always have her with us."

The corners of Will's mouth twitched in a faint, wry smile. "You're a good friend, James," he whispered, feeling as if his world was crumbling. "She was lucky to have you."

A small, sad smile crept across Jem's face. "No, Will," he said, his voice low, serious. "She was lucky to have us."

The streets of London had been Will's home since he was a small, broken child of 12. He knew the alleys, the streets, the neighborhoods like the back of his hand; it was like his sanctuary, his safe place. He had walked these roads so many times they had become like old friends. And since he was nearly always glamoured, no one gave him a second glance. It was the one place on Earth where he could be honestly and truly alone.

He pulled his jacket tighter around himself. He wasn't really cold; it was an uncharacteristically dry spring afternoon. The storm of the morning had blown over, leaving behind a damp, gray-blue sky with muted sunshine casting a grayish glow over the sooty skyline.

The wind blew the dark locks of his hair away from his face, but he hardly noticed. He had more important things on his mind.

He couldn't stop himself from going to see her, to see his Tessa. He knew Jem would notice his absence immediately and deduce his whereabouts. He knew Jem would be upset with him for going to see Tessa without him. But selfishly, Will just wanted to see Tessa alone.

He slowed his steps as he neared the two-story block house, painted a sickly yellow. Light was streaming from the front picture window, but from his vantage point Will couldn't make out any forms or figures. He sank to the ground and started to crawl closer.

Once he reached the shrub in front of the window, he started to rise, his eyes searching the bright room for the one reason his heart continued to beat.

"William Owen Herondale."

Will spun, his heart leaping into his throat. He knew that voice, the voice from his past. He relaxed as the figure stepped into the light. "Magnus Bane."

The warlock looked much the same as Will had remembered; dark skin, hair spiked high, his green-gold cat's eyes speaking for his Asian heritage. Only his clothing was different.

"I thought I'd find you here, sneaking around my house," the warlock remarked. "Seeing as your wife is staying with me for a time. I knew it would only be a matter of time before either you or that Jem Carstairs would be haunting me."

"Call it what you wish, Magnus," Will said tightly, the warlock's arrogance aggravating him as much as it had when he had been a lovestruck teenager. "I want to see my Tessa."

Magnus sighed. "Stubborn as you ever were, aren't you, Herondale."

Will didn't respond; he clutched the sleeves of his jacket tighter and waited the warlock out.

"Very well," the warlock sighed. "I see you won't leave unless I let you see Miss Gray. Or Herondale. Or Carstairs. I honestly don't know which surname she's keeping these days."

Will ignored his last comment, and followed the warlock through the carved awning of the doorway, which had long since rotted away. The house smelled vaguely of burnt sugar, Will noticed as he stepped over Church, who was lounging in the foyer. The cat turned its yellow eyes on Will and hissed.

Magnus led him down a hall to a large living room, adorned simply, with an assortment of sofas and chairs arranged around a long, low table on which a large map was rolled out.

Will's heart leaped into his throat as he saw her sitting on a low chaise longue, a mug in one hand and a pen in the other. Her dark hair was loose around her face, and Will didn't have to see her clear gray eyes to know that it was Tessa.

"Hello Magnus," she said, not looking up from the map. Her voice, unchanged after hundreds of years, made his heart constrict in his chest. "I trust your errands went well?"

The warlock pulled off his gloves and tossed them on the floor. "They did, my dear. And I seemed to have gained a ghost in the meantime."

She looked at Magnus, a look of mischief in her eyes. "I always told you that makeup of yours would earn you too many unwanted followers."

"I thought you might want to meet his acquaintance," Magnus said lightly, snapping his fingers at the fire, which ignited immediately.

Tessa's forehead crinkled in confusion. "But I don't have the Sight of the dead."

"Not to worry," Magnus assured her. "You will see him."

He crossed the room to the doorway in which Will still stood stock-still, transfixed at the sight of his beautiful wife, whom he thought he had lost forever when he died.

Magnus winked at him. "I'll leave you two lovers alone," he whispered.

Hesitantly, Will stepped around the doorframe into the room, letting the door slip shut behind him.

At the sound of the door clicking closed, her head turned, her eyes flying to his face immediately. She covered her mouth with her hands, her beautiful gray eyes brimming above her self-constructed gag. She lowered her hands slowly. "Oh, by the Angel," she whispered, looking at him with incredulous disbelief. "Will? Will, is that you?"

His heart beating a frantic, joyful tattoo against his chest, he nodded slowly, feeling his own tears in his eyes. "Yes," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Yes, my love, it's me."

Suddenly, her arms were around him, her fingers curling around his shoulders. Her face was pressed against his shoulder, her tears soaking the lightweight fabric.

He had forgotten how naturally their bodies fit against each other, like two pieces of a puzzle. He had forgotten what her silky hair felt against his cheek, how warm and strong and real she was.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, pulling away slightly to look up at him. "I can't believe it. Will..."

He silenced her with his mouth, angling his head downward and pressing his lips to her soft, soft mouth, feeling her sigh against him. She tasted like coffee and sugar and Tessa, pure and sweet and beautiful.

Her hands slid up his back, up his neck, tangling in the thick locks of his black, inky-dark hair. As if acting on their own, his own hands found her hips, her shoulders, into the familiar silky nest of her hair, feeling the impossibly soft strands sliding through his fingertips as he pressed her closer.

Will cupped her small, perfect face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, his fingers curling around the soft line of her jaw. He held her face as if it was the most precious thing on Earth. She was his, and she was Tessa, and she was beautiful.

"I love you, Tessa Herondale," he whispered, his lips brushing against hers.

"I love you too, William Herondale," she whispered back, a smile in her voice. "I'm so glad you came back."

"I'll always come back for you." He held her closer, feeling her warm body underneath his hands. "You are home for me."


End file.
